


In vino, veritas

by Kizzywiggle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Don't mix your drinks, Drunken Confessions, Enthusiastic Consent, Feelz, Happy Ending, M/M, More fluff than a basket of kittens, Nothing without consent, PWP without Porn, Q is adorable when drunk, Q loves James, Sober confessions too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 10:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8282464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: In a pub.Over *there* are the Double-Oh's, all brooding and silent.Over *there* are Q-branch and the admin staff, all very merry and rather loud.Q has been mixing his drinks, and is about to do Something Unexpected.How will James respond?





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Sandra. I tried writing top!James just for you. *Mwah*

> The noise from the other side of the pub was getting out of control, and James glared across the room, unsure if he was pissed off by the noise or jealous he wasn't in the middle of the laughing, singing, ridiculous mob. The men and women huddled around a collection of brightly-labelled bottles and the remnants of lurid cocktails got louder, their tone definitely mocking and teasing until suddenly there was a hush.
> 
> “Ssssh!”
> 
> It was Q, of course. He giggled and waved his long, elegant hands, calming the noise even further before raising a single finger to his quirked lips to reinforce the need for quiet. Around him, the rest of the Q-branch techies and minions and half of the secretarial pool subsided into a burble of shushes and snorted laughs. Q pushed himself to his feet (nearly knocking over several beers and one triple-umbrella cocktail) then wove over to the booth where the Double-Oh's sat brooding with their whiskeys and vodkas and serious faces.
> 
> James looked up, blue eyes narrowing as the Quartermaster loped towards him.
> 
> “Double-Oh Seven,” Q said primly, his lush mouth trembling as he fought a grin. “I have to tell you,” he turned and looked at the expectant mob across the pub, who almost as one gave an encouraging nod, Moneypenny cupping her hands around her mouth to shout slurred encouragement. Q took a deep breath. “To tell you that...yourbumisaperkypeachythingofawesomeness!” He finished in a rush before bursting into drunken giggles, covering his mouth with his hands and looking impishly through his glasses at James. The mob cheered loudly and the other Double-Oh's held their breath, waiting for James's reaction, but both groups were bitterly disappointed when James merely sighed and picked up his glass.
> 
> “How much have you had to drink, Q?” he asked calmly, taking a sip of his scotch. The liquor was adequate, nothing special, but drinking gave him something to do with his hands and mouth instead of leaping across the table to grab his Quartermaster and kiss him silly. Q flushed.
> 
> “Two of those bright blue ones and one that was on fire and some of Judith's liqueur thing and Rory gave me some cider and Rafe let me finish his beer…” Q ticked them off on his fingers, then stopped. “Oh. That is rather a lot, isn't it?” He beamed suddenly. “ But I feel won... derrrrr...fulllll, James! I mean, Double-Oh Seven. Sorry.” He listed to starboard, and James huffed a sigh before putting down his glass and standing, cupping Q’s elbow to steady him.
> 
> “How about I see you home?” he said, but it was more of a statement than a question. Q nodded dumbly. “Night, all,” James said to the watching, suavely-smirking Double-Oh's. “Keep an eye on the Idiot Brigade, would you?” There was a general murmur of assent and the agents moved to break up the mob, who were getting rowdy again while arguing about officially allowed words in Scrabble, of all things (“YOLO is in the dictionary, genius!”). James snaffled Q’s coat, roughly stuffed him into it, and steered them both out into the cold, wet darkness of a late October night in central London.
> 
> Bundling Q, who seemed to have grown extra arms and was wrestling like an octopus, into his hat and scarf, James waved a hand to flag down a cab. One screeched to a halt on the double yellow lines by the pub and James pulled the door open to shove Q inside. Q fell to the floor and laughed helplessly. “You tit,” James said mildly, then gave Q’s address to the cabbie before heaving Q into the seat and buckling him in. The cab pulled away and James slid into the seat next to Q, using his shoulder to prop the sozzled genius mostly upright. Q’s head lolled onto James’s shoulder heavily.
> 
> “I love you,” the younger man said, smiling up at James in the intimate darkness of the cab. “And your bottom really is a perky...peachy thing of...awesomeness…!” He sighed out a cloud of pure alcohol breath and snuggled into James.
> 
> “You're going to hate yourself in the morning, Q,” James told him. “Not just because of the hangover.”
> 
> “ No, I shan't, I never have hangover,” Q said smugly. “Ever. I have an excellent metrabulimble... meaterbowl...me-ta-bol-ism!”
> 
> “Oh, to be young,” James replied, and then the silence fell between them.
> 
> The cab wove through the erratic traffic, neatly avoiding buses, suicidal cyclists and white van drivers, and James marvelled at the ease of being snuggled up with Q in the intimate darkness. It felt right and comforting, and he wished fervently that Q wasn't quite so drunk. Can't take advantage of a man in his state, James, he lectured himself. Q puffed out a sigh and curled further into James's side, flopping one of his hands onto James thigh. James tensed and tried not to breathe as the warmth from Q’s skin seemed to bring through thick woolly gloves and thin wooden suit fabric to set his own on fire.
> 
> “Love you…” Q whispered. “Always have…”
> 
> He drew slow, lazy circles on James's thigh, circles which grew larger and took in more and more of James's leg, teasing the inner seam of his trousers, skating perilously close to his groin. James thought of cricket and taxes and defrosting the freezer and anything that wasn't his Quartermaster's exploring fingers. Cursing his sense of fair play, he lifted Q's hand and placed it on Q's lap, but Q curled his fingers into James's and held his hand instead.
> 
> “I love you, and your smile, and your too-tight suit trousers, and even the way you absolutely ruin every last piece of kit I send you out with,” Q whispered. “When you walk into Q branch I have to pretend that I don't want you to push me up against a wall and kiss me breathless. I have to be all cool and professional, when really I want to unzip your trousers and drop to my knees. I have to talk about trackers and gadgets and technical bollocks, and all I want to do is make you tea and fetch you biscuits and make sure you rest, because you look so damned weary, James…” Q's voice tailed off, and he began to snore, almost delicately.
> 
> Stunned, James stared through the partition in the cab and out through the rain-splattered windscreen at the road ahead. Car tail- and headlights caught and fractured into stars in the smeared raindrops, turning the London streets into a magical landscape. James wondered if Q was aware of what he was saying, if he could possibly mean it, or if he was just being drunk and ridiculous. He hoped...oh, how he hoped…
> 
> Ten minutes later the cab pulled up to the kerb outside Q's unassuming mid-terrace house. James paid the cabbie and manoeuvred a dozy and decidedly uncooperative Q out onto the pavement. The two men shuffled up the garden path, and James held Q’s hand to the thumb scanner Q had installed in place of a Yale lock. The front door clicked open, James guiding Q into the hallway before kicking the door shut behind them. He dragged Q into the living room and deposited him on the sofa before flicking a light on to look the younger man over.
> 
> Q was awake, mostly, and grinned up at James from the sofa. “My knight in Savile Row armour,” Q said with a giggle. “La, sir you have saved me!” He declared in a falsetto. “How can I ever thank you?!?” He fluttered ridiculously long eyelashes at James and dissolved into drunken laughter.
> 
> “Stay there,” James ordered. He stalked out of the room, finding the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Pouring a large glass of water he returned to Q. “Come on, upstairs,” he said, pulling Q upright.
> 
> “Finally!” cheered Q. “Dreams do come true!” James sighed, tamping down the spark of interest which flared to life with every flirty comment from Q's mouth.
> 
> They traipsed upstairs into Q’s bedroom. Jamss set the glass of water on the bedside table. “Let's get you undressed, then,” he said. “You'll sleep better out of all of that stuff.” Q whooped and attempted to remove his tie while toeing off his shoes, but he nearly face planted the kingsize bed, so James grabbed him and started in on Q's buttons. “You're more trouble than you're worth, you,” he informed him. Q giggled, covering James's hand with his own.
> 
> “Hey...wanna fool around?” Q slurred, eyes large and limpid behind the lenses of his specs.
> 
> “No,” said James with finality. “You're drunk. I am not letting you do that. Right,” pushing Q slightly, “Do you need the toilet before bed?’
> 
> “No, mummy,” replied Q. “I don't, thank you.” James got him under the covers, and went to the bathroom to fish some paracetamol out of the bathroom cabinet. Back in the bedroom he made Q take the pills and drink the water before pulling the covers up to his chin. “Do I get a goodnight kiss?” asked Q.
> 
> “No, you don't,” said James flatly.
> 
> “I'll cry…!” threatened Q with a laugh.
> 
> “Tough!” James answered. “Right, I'll see you at work tomorrow.”
> 
> He turned to go, but Q called out; a wordless, pain-filled cry of distress. Turning back, James found Q trying to get out of bed, tangled in the bedclothes. “Don't go!” Q begged. “Please, James! I promise not to touch, just...stay? Please?” He looked so young, so forlorn, so heartbroken, and James groaned.
> 
> “Do you have a spare room?” he asked.
> 
> “No,” Q answered. “It's my secondary lab. And nobody stays over, ever...stay here? In bed, with me?” James palmed the back of his neck and looked at Q from under his brows. He pursed his lips and thought. Q's lip wobbled and his huge eyes filled with tears.
> 
> “You really are drunk, Q,” James said slowly. “I don't think this is a good idea.”
> 
> “I know I'm drunk, Double-Oh Seven, but I'm perfectly in charge of my faculties!” Q snapped, sounding remarkaby sober and as disgusted as the time James had wrecked his ninth Aston. “I simply want company. Your company. I solemnly swear I will not touch you without your express and enthusiastic consent. Ok?” He flopped back on the bed and folded his arms over his eyes. “They said you fancied me back..” he whispered. “They said you'd screw anything, and all I had to do was show you I'm interested…I wish I wasn't so crap at people!”
> 
> James moved to stand beside the bed and looked down at Q. His heart ached as he looked down at the younger man; he wished that, even drunk, he had the courage Q had shown in stating his feelings. Maybe it's time I did, he mused. “Q,” he said. Q just groaned. “Q!”
> 
> Q uncovered his face. “What?” He sounded like a naughty five-year-old, disgruntled and suspicious.
> 
> James slipped his jacket off and tossed it behind him as he went to work on his tie. “No touching, no confessions, and if you puke, I'm not cleaning it up. Deal?” He unbuckled his belt and pushed his trousers down.
> 
> “Deal!” Q agreed in a stunned voice as James pulled off his socks. James circled the bed and slid in next to Q, lying flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the heck to do now. “Thank you, James,” Q whispered.
> 
> “It’s ok. Try to sleep,” James instructed. “G’night, Q.”
> 
> “G'night, James. Sleep well.” Q's voice was sleepy, and soon he was snoring the loud, un-sexy snore of the very drunk. James glared at him, then rolled over and went to sleep himself (if he could sleep through a literal war zone, Q's enthusiastic snores were nothing).
> 
> ***
> 
> James woke with a start.
> 
> Weak autumnal sun drizzled through the curtains of an unfamiliar room, and a warm, solid weight had his arm pinned. Quickly orienting himself, James looked down at the sleeping form of his Quartermaster, curled against James's side. James smiled. Q yawned and stretched, jumping when he noticed James next to him in bed.
> 
> “Double-Oh Seven?” Q queried in a small, shocked voice. “What are you doing here?”
> 
> “Ah. You're an amnesiac drunk,” James observed with a grin. “Well, to recap, you got totally legless, the idiot brigade put you up to propositioning me, I brought you home where you begged me to stay. And nothing at all happened,” he insisted at Q’s look of panic. “Even though you are frankly adorable when your inhibitions are gone and you have wandering hands and a non-stop mouth!” He grinned wickedly, and Q flushed.
> 
> “Oh, dear me…” he whispered. “What have I done?”
> 
> “Nothing, I told you,” James replied. “I don't take advantage of drunk people! I won't hold anything you said against you, either.” He moved to get out of bed, but stopped, sat on the edge, at Q's hand reaching round to rest on his forearm. “What?”
> 
> “Did I tell you I loved you?” Q asked in a very small voice.
> 
> “Yes, but you were drunk,” said James, turning to lean up on one arm next to Q.
> 
> “What would you say if I told you, while sober, that I meant it?” Q's face was pale, and he pressed his lips together as he looked up bravely at James's bright blue eyes.
> 
> James thought, assessing the situation, Q's body language, and quickly checking how he himself felt before answering. “I'd say, good,” he replied. “I'd say thank you. I'd say...I think I might love you, too…” he stopped. Q looked so young and vulnerable, staring up at James, and James felt something cold and hard inside him warm suddenly and break apart. “In fact, I'm fairly sure I do love you, Q. I have ever since you guided me through the London underground after Silva. You're my safe place, my foundation, my guardian angel. I really do love you!”
> 
> Both men were laughing with relief and stunned disbelief as James finished speaking, and Q pushed himself up so their faces were level. “Really? You do?”
> 
> “Yes,” James answered without hesitation. “Yes, I do.” He leaned in slowly, giving Q time to react, and when Q didn't move away, James gently brushed his lips against Q’s.
> 
> As far as first kisses went, it wasn't anything earth-shaking: in fact Q jumped, and bumped his nose against James's, and both men swore, laughing. Q also had truly horrendous morning-after breath, and covered his mouth with a grimace. “I'm so sorry!” He squeaked, “I’ll just go and brush my teeth!”
> 
> James beamed, and pushed gently on Q's shoulder, pushing him to his back before moving to loom over him. He looked down at the rumpled, sleep-blurred face of the young man who had come to mean so much to him. “You're an idiot, for a genius,” he smirked. “If you can not only forgive me for trashing a multi-million-pound car, but make me a better on afterwards; if you can defend me against bureaucrats and villains alike; if you can see love me despite my past, my scars and my track record…” he leaned in for for slower, deeper second kiss, and pulled back only when Q was whimpering and squirming beneath him. “If you can overlook all of that, Q, I can certainly overlook morning breath!”
> 
> Q laughed and reached up to thread long fingers into James's hair. “I can and I do, James. I love you just as you are, you infuriating man.” He tugged, and James again lowered his face to meet Q’s mouth in a third, passionate kiss.
> 
> By the time the kiss ended, both men were flushed and aroused and breathless.
> 
> “Are you sober, Q?” James asked.
> 
> “Yes, James. Not enough to drive a car, but certainly enough to be in control of my faculties. Why?”
> 
> “Because I won't sleep with you if you're drunk or unable to say yes with a clear head. But if you're not drunk, you can give me your wholehearted…” he pressed nibbling kisses along Q's collarbone, “enthusiastic…” he sucked on an earlobe as he snaked a hand beneath the covers and down Q's torso, “consent when I ask if you'd like me to go further?” James slid his hand down to cover Q's slowly-hardening cock. Q gasped and thrust up. “Is that a yes, Q?” James squeezed gently.
> 
> “Yes!” Shouted Q. “Yes, please, James! Yes!”
> 
> “Oh, good,” replied James mildly. “I was hoping you'd agree…”
> 
> And with that he proceeded to show Q exactly what enthusiastic, informed consent resulted in. In return, Q showed him exactly how talented his nimble, inventor's fingers were. When Moneypenny phoned after lunch to apologise for egging Q on at the pub, he just handed the phone to James, who said “Go away, Eve, we're busy!” and hung up on her delighted squeal, turning to draw Q to him again.


End file.
